


The Definition of Insanity

by MildSpinning



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, Drinking, Explicit Language, Groundhog Day, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Slow Burn, Time Loop, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 17:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildSpinning/pseuds/MildSpinning
Summary: Time is linear, there's no going back and changing the past. Any fantasies to the contrary are best left to children and bitter adults with regrets. Then again, Wakanda had seemed like little more than a fairy tale to a kid from Oakland.Erik dies over and over, but he's going to find a way to stop this. He's going to take the throne and kill anyone who gets in his way.Now if only they would stay dead.Groundhog Day AU One Shot: where Erik wakes up flying back into Wakanda after his final fight with T'Challa.





	The Definition of Insanity

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【中文翻译】The Definition of Insanity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113185) by [HClO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HClO/pseuds/HClO)



> So this plot bunny sort of bit me and wouldn't let go. What was supposed to be a quick one shot exploded and wouldn't stop until I finished it. Blame everyone on the T'Cherik discord channel, that's what I'm doing!
> 
> The next chapter of Let us see the sunrise this time is still underway! 
> 
> A special (super special) thank you to baetchalla for being an amazing beta reader. Also thank you to BabaTunji for helping me make sure I found the right voice. 
> 
> The title is a reference to Far Cry 3's villain Vaas, it just fit. Also, there's a small but blatant Harry Potter reference so sue me. 
> 
> WARNINGS: language, implied sexual content, mentions of multiple characters 'death', and implied sexual activity between two adults have been drinking (neither is too drunk to consent).
> 
> Please enjoy the story, it was a lot of fun to write and I hope you'll share how you feel about it with me!

Shit gets old _real_ fuckin’ quick.

 

He tells himself it's in his head, some weird ass deja vu. The feeling in his gut that he's done this before when he lands in Wakanda dragging Klaue’s corpse behind him as he approaches the Border Tribe. Erik ignores it, goes through the familiar motions as if stretching a well used muscle. It can’t be real, no fucking way is this actually happening.

 

Not until T’Challa pierces his chest _again_ does it really click for Erik that huh, yea he remembers dying before, and it felt just like this. He spits the same truth at T’Challa, looking into those eyes so full of understanding and fucking sympathy that it makes him ill as he rips the blade from his chest, welcoming the darkness that comes with it. Maybe this time when he opens his eyes, he’ll join his parents in death.

 

Erik opens his eyes and immediately curses fly from his lips as his head hits the headrest of the plane and the now all too familiar thrum of dying engines as he moves to bring the plane in for a landing. He can see the Border Tribe in the distance; can smell the tinge of fresh blood coming from Klaue’s corpse.

 

“This is some fuckin’ bullshit man,” he tells the corpse as he slams his fist into the console of the plane. Alright, alright, he’s got this. Some weird shit is going on, that much is clear. Erik’s nothing if not a man with a plan and he’s going to get through this mess, he’s going to get the throne and keep the fucking throne no matter what weird ass Groundhog Day flashbacks he’s having.

 

Fuck, he used to actually like that damn movie too.

 

\--

 

Erik tries a lot of shit, because when life suddenly becomes a fucking video game with unlimited lives why the fuck not try everything? At first he starts methodically, he changes one thing at a time. He announces who he is at the Border, that changes nothing. W’Kabi takes him to T’Challa and the same song and dance happens in the throne room, go to the waterfalls to fight T’Challa, rinse and fucking repeat. Still ends with him getting run through the chest.

 

He’s really going to need to find a way around that move, it’s slick as hell but he’s a former SEAL. Erik can figure out a way to turn it in his favor.

 

More than once he drives a blade through T’Challa’s chest when they fight on the waterfall, hears the screams of the fallen King’s mother and sister as they watch the light leave his dark eyes. Erik thinks it will never get old, but after the fourteenth, fifteenth…--fuck knows how many times, it doesn’t even feel satisfying anymore. Erik has so many scars-- so much death-- he supposes it’s not surprising that one more kill doesn’t make that ache go away like he expects to happen.

 

It changes nothing. He sends off the ships loaded with weapons without issue. Sometimes the little Princess rushes him to try and stop him, sometimes it’s M’Baku of the Jabari with his army, and sometimes it’s the beautiful spy with fire in her eyes and hatred in her heart. Even with the strength provided to them by the heart shaped herb and Shuri’s technology, there is no contest. Erik bests each of them with terrifying ease, none of them are a challenge; none of them are T’Challa. Each time he goes to sleep after a victory where he can feel the hatred from the Dora Milaje General (if she’s still alive, he has to kill Okoye more than once) he inevitably wakes up hearing that same fucking hum of engines. So after playing with the possibilities and changing his actions little by little Erik throws it all away and just keeps chucking T’Challa off the waterfall.

 

At least if he’s going to be stuck in this fucking loop, he’s going to have a fight that challenges him in the end.

 

\---

 

It’s that decision that finally changes things.

 

As he’s buried beneath the sands to reach the ancestral plane for the first time when he walks into his former apartment in Oakland, it is not an empty space on the ground where his father’s body had been that greets him. No.

 

It’s his father sitting on the couch as if he’s been waiting for him the whole time. Erik pauses in the doorway, staring at his father who smiles at him as if this shit is normal, as if he’s just coming up from a basketball game.

 

“You’ve made progress N’Jadaka,” N’Jobu praises as Erik takes a step inside the apartment. He laughs as Erik gawks at him gesturing for his son to come and sit beside him.

 

“You know...you know what’s going on,” it’s not really a question. Erik remembers every other time he’s been to the ancestral plane, each interaction a mirror of the last. The one thing Erik was unable to bring himself to change, because at least he was seeing his father again; now his old man goes and changes shit on his own from beyond the grave.

 

“I may know a little,” N’Jobu concedes offering his son a smile as Erik walks forward and slumps beside his father on the old familiar couch still staring at him in shock. “These things have been known to happen in the past.”

 

“What? People living through their own personal Bill Murray movie is a thing in Wakanda?” Erik asks, and his father gives him an odd look. There’s probably not a lot of knowledge about American pop culture within the ancestral plane, and his father’s alone as far as Erik can tell. “Movie came out the year after you died. He lives the same day over and over but he’s the only one who realizes it. Can’t break it until he makes some personal breakthrough, happy ending and that crap.”

 

“That is an apt description,” N’Jobu says. Erik snorts shaking his head.

 

“It’s a special kind of bullshit is what it is,” Erik mutters, and he can see the soft reprimand in his father’s gaze. He had always been the first to correct Erik when he swore as a child. “You gonna tell me what I need to do to make this stop?” He has goals to achieve, things he has planned his entire life and he’s not going to let this get in his way much longer. His eyes are full of determination as he looks at his father who smiles at him like he’s proud. Why Erik doesn’t know, he hasn’t done anything to deserve that pride.

 

“You are at a precipice Erik. Bast has given you a rare chance to take a decision and use it for the betterment of not just Wakanda, but perhaps the world,” N’Jobu says with reverence and joy, “what has happened can be changed, you can forge a path forward. It is not your time to join me N’Jadaka! It is your time to thrive!”

 

“How? You say that shit but when I wake up I already know what’s going to happen! I’ve tried changing things, tried changing _everything,_ ” Erik insists not seeing how what his father says is even possible, “tell me Baba. Please, just tell me what I need to do!”

 

“It is your path Erik. I cannot tell you which road to take,” and Erik wants to rage. He wants to shout and throw his hands up in the air, demand what the fucking point of all this shit is then but all he can do is sit there gawking. “However,” his father adds with a smile that Erik recognizes as the mischievous one he would give him before sneaking him candy before dinner, “I can make a few suggestions.”

 

Erik nearly lets out a whoop of celebration, _finally_! Some progress with the insanity that has been his life for the last--fuck, how many cycles has it even been? He lost count a long time ago. He’s going to end this loop, he’s going to get his revenge, and he’s going to change the world and overthrow the oppressors. Erik’s going to burn it all down.

 

“You must speak with T’Challa.”

 

Whatever he was expecting his father to say, that was not it.

 

“Nah, nah that shit ain’t happenin’,” Erik denies, shaking his head in disgust.

 

\---

 

Erik’s done.

 

“This is your last chance,” T’Challa warns him as Erik pulls his shirt off. Uncle James is standing there with guilt written all over his face; Erik’s numb to that now. He can’t bring himself to summon that rage that had once accompanied his initial recognition. Not anymore.

 

“Yea, I heard that before,” Erik says as he throws the shirt to the side, “right before I kill your ass. Every goddamn time.” It’s the first time he’s spoken of what’s happening to anyone other than his father. For Erik, over twenty cycles have gone by since his Father told him he needed to speak with T’Challa. He’s been steadfastly ignoring that, trying the same shit in a different order desperate to change fucking something.

 

“What are you talking about?” T’Challa looks confused. Everyone looks at Erik as if he’s gone mad (not that they did not believe him to be already) and it just makes Erik laugh, bitter and angry.

 

“Same shit, every fucking time. I can predict your damn moves better than my own, cause you not as slick as you think you are ya know? Way too cocky thinkin’ you can beat me, at least make me work for it,” Erik says looking towards Uncle James who stands ready to hand him his weapon. “Cause when I kill his fool ass you lose it. Can’t go losin’ your head just cause someone you give a shit about dies. Everyone fucking dies. Well, cept me apparently.” He’s rambling, but does it really matter? No matter what happens none of them are gonna remember this, because when he comes back none of this will have ever happened.

 

“Killmonger, are you saying that,” T’Challa begins, taking a step forward his weapons lowered and Erik holds up a hand to stop him.

 

“Ya know what? I’m not feelin’ it right now. Same time, same day right?” He asks with a bitter laugh as he turns and walks without hesitation over the edge of the waterfall. Erik knows even as he falls that the roar of the water will soon turn to the sound of busted engines. Just as the sweet clean scent of water will turn to the acrid scent of gasoline and blood.

 

\---

 

“That was not what I meant when I said you should talk to T’Challa,” N’Jobu says when Erik walks into the apartment after the next cycle. He slinks in and slumps down on the couch his hands shoved into the blue hoodie he wears and he feels like a child being scolded.

 

“Yea, well I didn't want to talk to him. Did enough talking with him after he stabbed me the first time, an’ the time after that, an’ the time after that….” Erik glances over at his father who takes a deep breath looking towards the window, to the strange purple beauty of a sky that definitely isn’t Oakland.

“Bast has given you a great opportunity to change your fate Erik,” N’Jobu insists. Erik scowls, yea an opportunity that's laying waste to all the plans he's held his whole life. His dad must know that. It was what he had dreamt of as well in all those notes Erik had found hidden away. His dad has seen it, but the people of Wakanda were willfully blind to the suffering of others far too content to stay in their golden city. It was time for the world to be shook up.

 

“Never really put any belief in fate.” Erik has always been one to forge his own path, to tackle obstacles with ferocity. Any sacrifice was worth it if it meant he could achieve the goals he set out for himself.

 

“Think about it Erik, speak with T’Challa. This is an opportunity, you can learn more than I could ever teach you of Wakanda, you can show them the way, you can right wrongs,” N’Jobu insists. Erik turns to look at his father frowning slightly, his father of all people knows how rigid in their fucking traditions the Wakandan’s are.

 

“Don’t think I’m changing everybody's minds in a day,” Erik says wondering if he’s fated to just repeat this shit over and overall at the whim of a damn panther Goddess who won’t even tell him what the hell she wants.

 

“You don’t have to change all minds Erik, only one,” N’Jobu reminds him. Before Erik can respond, he’s launching himself out of the sand gasping for breath.

 

\---

 

The new King is a strange man.

 

Okoye does not trust the man fully, nor does she understand him. From his arrival in the throne room, his seeming bored indifference as without waiting to be spoken to he announces his true name unaffected by the shock of the Council and the chaos around his arrival. His swift defeat of T’Challa stings badly. She can still hear the screams of Queen Mother and Princess Shuri  as they watched T’Challa fall. The King shows no reaction, no joy in his victory. He simply commands they return him to the Palace after he consumes the heart shaped herb before vanishing down the halls not stopping Okoye as she and the other Dora Milaje follow in his shadow.

 

How he seems to know where the library is located Okoye does not ask, she wonders how much her beloved shared with this outsider, now King. It is clear though that the man knows what he seeks and he grabs a variety of ancient texts. He arranges them in neat stacks on a table and reads. She takes note of each text he takes, different books on the history of Wakanda, on Bast. It is odd, not what she would have expected from a man known as Killmonger.

 

“I’d step to the left,” he says absently to Ayo, who remains expressionless as she follows the King’s command just as a large book from the top shelf tumbles down right where Ayo had been standing. Ayo doesn’t react other than to glance at Okoye briefly before looking forward once more. Okoye looks back to the King who is still turning the pages of a book.

 

A strange man indeed.

 

\---

 

It doesn't surprise Erik that he has to concede his father was right. He has spent dozens of cycles practically locked in the library devouring every book he can get his hands on before he goes to meet T’Challa for battle. There _are_ a few accounts of days that repeat themselves for one or two people, who through the repetition were able to avoid seemingly inevitable fates and conflicts. If Erik wasn't living through it, he would brush it off as fairy tale bullshit, but hey facts are facts.

 

He's not looking for any hand holding, come together kumbaya moment. Erik doesn't give a fuck, but apparently a panther Goddess has decided to keep him in this perpetual loop until he breaks down. Erik is stubborn, he always has been; there's just no way he's going to be more stubborn than a God. So fine, he’ll talk to the pretty boy King.

“Now, before you get your ass up out that chair I'm going to share some information with y’all,” Erik says as he's led into the throne room _again,_ continuing to speak over the sounds of protest, “I’m N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu--no lie Auntie look at the necklace W’Kabi here is holding and the fact that pretty boy King over there ain't flinching.” Erik ignores everyone in the room, right now they're nothing but meaningless chatter to him. His eyes fix on T’Challa who meets his gaze clearly searching for something.

 

“What do you want?” He asks, again. Erik draws in a deep breath before letting out a put upon sigh.

 

“You know, the first few hundred times I went through this day I wanted the throne. I’ve killed almost everyone in this room time and time again. To be honest, I'm not even enjoying it anymore,” Erik says bluntly, taking a step forward as the Dora ready their spears; Erik ignores them as he takes another step. “I've thrown you from Warrior Falls. I've cut your throat and listened to your Mama cry so many times. I’ve gone to the ancestral plane, seen my dad again. And he tells me this is a gift, a chance to right change the damn world. Right some wrongs.

 

“But what about your wrongs huh? The fact that your daddy killed mine and left a kid to grow up alone in Oakland with _nothing,_ what about that wrong? What about all the people that look just like us being oppressed while your ass sits in that chair?!” His voice rises and for the first cycle in what feels like forever Erik feels the fire and anger return.

 

“You're lying.” It's Princess Shuri, with her quick mouth and temper who insists but there's doubt in her eyes. Erik turns to her with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes but shows his gold capped teeth.

 

“Library, turn left and head back six rows. Fourth shelf, second to last book, turn to page 394 and tell me I'm lying again Princess,” Erik says. There's a long silence before T’Challa nods to Okoye. The General seems reluctant to leave but is swift once she does. The room fills with silence as Erik seethes, glaring at T’Challa who regards him with a cool intensity as if Erik is some puzzle he's trying to solve.

 

It doesn't take long for Okoye to return; she likely began to run once she was around the corner. The woman is expressionless as she hands the book, open to the right page and hands it to T’Challa.

 

“Last time this was recorded happening it was between the daughter of the Jabari chieftain and her lover from the Border Tribe,” Erik says as he sees Shuri and her mother lean over to read over T’Challa’s shoulder their lips thinning. “Apparently they stopped a war that would have devastated Wakanda.”

 

The silence that fills the room is deafening.

 

“Release him,” T’Challa orders and Erik straightens as the protests erupt from various council members. W’Kabi steps behind him and releases his bonds, Erik cracks his neck as he massages his wrists never taking his eyes off T’Challa.

 

“You could have simply told me the truth first,” T’Challa says mildly. Erik gives him a smile that he doesn't really feel.

 

“I think I'm gonna have to kill you a few more times before I get to that point. Let's call it a personality flaw.”

 

\---

 

Erik is ready to kill T’Challa.

 

It has been nearly two dozen cycles since he first spoke to T’Challa and Erik only challenges him again the first two times. He's pretty sure that counts as an improvement regardless of the disapproving looks he receives from his father. There’s a routine now, Erik busts in and immediately announces his name, what number time he's been living this same day (he changes it up every time, he lost count a long time ago) and rattles off the same book in the library. He hasn't brought up murdering everyone in the throne room since that first time though (again, improvement) and it makes things go smoother. T'Challa takes him to his office flanked by the Dora Milaje and they proceed to have the same argument, over and over.

 

“You don't get it. You been living in this palace most of your life--don't bring up no shit at Oxford. It's fucking Oxford,” Erik interrupts before T’Challa can speak as he runs his hand over his dreads in frustration. “You know the world's catching up, _aliens_ dropping from the sky over New York made sure that would happen real quick. And once they realize what's here--"

 

“I am King of Wakanda and it is my duty to protect the people here, I am not King of the rest of the world. Nor, may I add, are you,” T’Challa says and how the fucker always seems so calm is beyond Erik.

 

“Getting the jump on the rest of the world is the best way to do that! Arm the oppressed, let them rise up and we go in and rebuild this shit _right_ ,” Erik insists, but it's like talking to a fucking wall. They argue in circles and Erik has no idea why his dad thought talking to T’Challa would make any of this shit better.

 

“Perhaps it would be best if we rest--"

 

“It’s been nearly the full time, I go to sleep and I'm waking up back in that plane,” Erik cuts in and T’Challa looks at him thoughtfully for a moment.

 

“Perhaps it is time to see what suggestions your father may have to offer,” and if it weren't for years of training (and slowly degrading sanity) Erik thinks his jaw would have hit the floor.

 

“You telling me to kill you?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. Okoye and Ayo tense behind T’Challa who waves a hand dismissing the suggestion.

 

“No, not today anyway,” he says as his fingers drum across the beautiful wooden desk in front of him. “After you restart the cycle.”

 

“Pretty casual, talking about your own death like that,” Erik says. T’Challa shrugs his shoulder a small grin tugging at his lips.

 

“It seems that Bast has concluded it is not my time to die, nor yours,” he adds and Erik regrets telling him the full truth of what really happened the first time they met. Erik wants to argue on principle, just because it's apparent he has to work with T’Challa doesn't mean he has to like it. Though maybe due to the extended long exposure it no longer fills him with disgust and rage by default.  

 

“Yea, fine. Could use some sleep anyway,” though when he slept between cycles it wasn't truly restful sleep. Maybe he would get lucky this time.

 

\---

 

When he enters the ancestral plane, it is not the familiar sites of Oakland that greet him. It’s Wakanda, open plains with trees reaching up to try and kiss the strange ethereal sky. Erik looks down at his clothing and frowns; he's dressed in black and gold Wakandan attire instead of the blue hoodie he has always wore before.

 

“Hello, N’Jadaka,” Erik freezes at the voice turning slowly to see an old man draped in a leopard's skin looking at him sadly; all he sees is a _murderer._ All the rage that hundreds upon hundreds of cycles mellowed returns with a roaring intensity that sends blood rushing to his head.

 

Erik launches towards him to attack without a word only to wake up gasping for breath and choking on sand practically throwing the priestess away from him as he screams in frustration.

 

\---

 

“The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over while expecting different results,” is the greeting he receives many cycles later. Erik doesn't say anything as he circles the old man as if hoping some opening will reveal itself if he takes his time before he strikes.

 

“Thanks, but I ain't takin’ advice from the person who killed my dad,” Erik snarls as he launches himself forward again.

 

\---

 

“Why is it you here? Where did my dad go? You kill him here also?” Erik asks as he stalks around the corner king in large circles well aware of the other Black Panthers, his other ancestors, who watch from the trees. It took him several cycles to even notice him as blinded by rage as he had been. Time and failure have lessened his quickness to action but not his anger, the familiar hum he clings to now that it's back.

 

“That is not possible,” T’Chaka replies and Erik knows he can be forgiven for having his doubts.

 

“Didn't answer my other questions old man,” Erik spits out.

 

“You are the truth I chose to ignore,” T’Chaka says and Erik is getting fed up with the way the ancestors seem to think speaking in riddles is the way to handle things. “And now it is my family, my country who pays the price.”

 

“Yea, your boy has paid that price over and over again,” Erik growls, “cause if I could kill you instead I’d do this cycle ‘til time ends.”

 

“Would you not kill T’Challa if the cycle were to stop, if you had your true chance?” T’Chaka asks; Erik opens his mouth to answer and pauses, only for a heartbeat but apparently it's enough. T’Chaka smiles, it looks odd on the serious man's withered face. “My son is a good man, and you see this now. And it is hard for a good man to be King. Perhaps you will help him after all.”

 

“Wait, what? The fuck are you saying--" Erik begins to demand but the ancestral plane fades away and he's gasping for air all over again.

 

\---

 

Erik resigns himself to waiting for the next cycle to get his answers. He still can't find his way around that slick little move of T’Challa’s; if he dodges the first it seems to catch him again at a later point. Nothing he changes can seem to move the fight between them away from those tracks. The inevitability of the blade through his chest followed by one of the only things that never grows old, the sunsets.

 

His dad hadn't been lying; they are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

 

It’s what Erik has come to resign himself to when he's lead into the throne room again, except this time T’Challa is staring at him in near comical levels of wide eyed shock. Erik stares at him for a moment before he bursts out into hysterical laughter, tears leaking from his eyes as he doubles over laughing so hard it hurts.

 

“Brother, what the hell is going on?” Shuri asks T’Challa, and it speaks to the confusion in the room that her mother does not reprimand her.

 

“He’s stuck in the loop now too,” Erik gasps out through fits of laughter as he tries to stop laughing but can't. “Thinking he just killed me yesterday but hey, surprise! I ain't dead!” Erik snickers again as he draws in a deep breath finally pulling himself into some form of composure. After so many cycles, going from killing T’Challa to following his father’s advice and speaking with the man perhaps he’s grown soft.

 

“Killmonger--”

 

“Nah, say my name,” Erik cuts in leveling T’Challa with a serious look a sharp contrast to the near hysteric levity he had been letting out earlier. “Say my name, tell ‘em all just who I really am.” He takes a step forward and W’Kabi tries to jerk him back but Erik pushes forward. The Dora Milaje move forward their spears at the ready. Every cycle someone else has asked who he is or Erik has revealed the truth himself, never has T’Challa been the one to utter the name Erik’s father gave him.

 

There are questions, questions from the Council’s slowly increasing in volume but it’s nothing more than background noise as the two men stare at one another from across the room. Erik wants to hear T’Challa say it, to acknowledge him in front of all these fools. Call him petty, call him vain, it’s all fucking true, but he wants to hear T’Challa acknowledge just who he’s in this mess with.

 

“Release him,” T’Challa commands finally and just as he has every other time W’Kabi immediately releases Erik from his bindings. It surprises Erik this time that he’s not being kept prisoner while T’Challa attempts to solve the loop on his own, it’s what Erik would have done in his shoes.

 

Actually, he probably ( _definitely)_  would have killed him where he stood.

 

“My King, is this wise--” Okoye begins her gaze is full of suspicion. Smart woman really, not to trust him. A slightly raised hand from T’Challa quiets her protests.

 

“We will go somewhere private to discuss this...N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu.”

 

Those gasps of shock have long since grown old for Erik, but this time he straightens at them and brushes his hands off on his sleeves.

 

“I can already tell you where this conversation is gonna go,” Erik doesn’t see any reason to pull back the truth. He never has before, and he isn’t going to start just because T’Challa is now in a twisted way his companion in this fucked up time loop. T’Challa looks at him consideringly for a moment before nodding in agreement, not that he has any way of knowing. Why does he believe Erik? Erik could start feeding him all kinds of shit about his experience through the loops. The man is too damn trusting.

 

 _My son is a good man,_ the words echo in his head, but Erik pushes them away. In his experience there are few good men in the world, everyone has a point where their principles don’t mean shit anymore.

 

“How much of Wakanda have you seen?” T’Challa asks. It’s a question that actually gives Erik pause as he steps forward. The tension is clear in those surrounding them, no one trusts Erik; no one _should_. After all of these cycles he’s volatile at the best of times. Frankly he’s almost glad there’s someone who has to suffer through the madness and will of a Goddess with him. Even if it’s the son of that murdering bastard.

 

“Those sunsets here are beautiful, just like my dad said. Beyond that I’m pretty sure I’ve spent close to a year in y’all’s library,” Erik’s always enjoyed reading. Still, he could find nothing in those damn books about how to resolve the repetition. “Had other things on my mind than exploring.”

 

“Like taking the throne,” T’Challa supplies and Erik does not deny it.

 

“Tried everything to do that already, and I mean everything,” Erik sees nothing wrong with admitting the truth. Now that T’Challa is stuck in the same loop he is, the King is going to be just as invested in getting the hell out as Erik. He can strategize once he figures out T’Challa’s play.

 

“Did you let me save you?” Erik looks at T’Challa expressionlessly. It’s as if they are the only two in the Council room, in a way they are. They’re the only two that will remember any of this conversation ever occurred.

 

“Once,” he admits, holding T’Challa’s gaze. “I was already a prisoner of the loop yea? Could bust out if I was just your prisoner and not a God’s. Didn’t work. Went under and woke right back up in that plane.”

 

“Alright, time out!” Shuri declares stubbornly stepping between the two of them throwing her hands up to form a T. “Explanation, now.”

 

“Don’t waste your breath,” Erik tells T’Challa who clearly means to comply with his sister’s request. “It doesn’t matter what you tell her, she’s not going to remember it. You start feelin’ like a broken record after a while.”

 

“Excuse me, outsider, I think I will get to decide--” Shuri begins to cut in.

 

“Shuri,” T’Challa interrupts shaking his head, and her lips thin  ready to be defiant.

 

“The grown folk need to talk now, bye,” Erik says waving his fingers at her and T’Challa gives him a long suffering look.

 

“Why are you like this?” He asks as he walks forward and Erik falls in step beside him. The Dora Milaje follow at a short distance as Ramonda tries to calm the chaos in the throne room.

 

“You go through a few hundred cycles and keep your head right, then we can talk,” Erik retorts as the large doors close behind them. “Where we goin’ to talk then? Your office is the other way.”

 

“It seems we’ve spoken there countless times,” T’Challa glances at Erik who shrugs, “perhaps a change of scenery will ensure things will be different this time.” Erik snorts derisively shaking his head at the Wakandan King.

 

“Yea, let’s see how long that lasts.”

 

\---

 

Erik knows what T’Challa is trying to do, he’s far from stupid and the King is well aware of that fact. Yet here they are, ten cycles later still going on goddamn sightseeing tours of Wakanda. As if getting a taste of the birthright he had been robbed of would change his mind. Still, it’s at least entertaining to see the confusion on the faces of others in the throne room when Erik asks where they’re going today. On T’Challa’s insistence sometimes Shuri accompanies them, at other times it is Nakia who looks at them oddly. She’s beautiful and the looks the two of them exchange at times makes for better people watching than Erik would have guessed. She looks at T’Challa with questions, and he returns the gaze with one of regret.

 

“So, you and the pretty spy girl,” Erik brings up in the middle of T’Challa explaining the River Tribe and their role in Wakanda. Like Erik hasn’t devoured every book in the royal library, “that ain’t a thing anymore is it?” He watches as a rhino bigger than a pickup truck walks up to Okoye--who tries to stand stoically on guard-- as it seeks attention while W’Kabi smiles nearby.

 

“Her heart lies outside of Wakanda, in helping others. To make her Queen would be to tie her to Wakanda,” T’Challa says, frowning at Erik for a moment before he continues, “She too wants to use our resources to _help_ others and it is not something I disagree with.” Erik rolls his eyes at the pointed comment, they’ve had this argument countless times already, but T’Challa continues to bring it up as if it’s a viable choice.

 

“You don’t know what it’s like out there. You see what I managed? Imagine a whole squad of guys trained like me who believe in what the oppressors spit out,” Erik says as he leans back against the feel of the rock warmed by the sun against the muscles in his back.

 

“I do not believe anyone could manage even half of what you did,” T’Challa replies. Both of Erik’s eyebrows shoot up at the unanticipated compliment. Which it is, even if T’Challa disagrees with him on his course of action.

 

“Well, you ain’t wrong.”

 

\---

 

It’s not all roses and jokes between them.

 

They’re both stubborn and they argue often. T’Challa still believes that Wakanda can share itself with the world without consequences but fails to see how that supposed help may not be enough. Erik sees a privileged Prince who is allowing his ideals blind him to reality, and he has no doubt all T’Challa sees in him is an extremist who is to quick to violence.

 

Sometimes Erik goes through with the challenge he wants to fight T’Challa on an equal level. Erik wants to remind the other man just what he’s capable of, wants to see if T’Challa can manage in a fight without his powers now that he’s more familiar with how Erik fights. What does it matter anyway? It’s not like either of them is going to actually _die._ If they ever manage to break this loop, Erik doesn't think his already meager caution regarding his mortality is ever going to come back.

 

“Come on, get up!” Erik shouts at T’Challa, pacing in front of the bloodied man as he tries to push himself to his feet, stumbling each time. The water is quick to wash away his blood and the roar of the waterfalls almost drowns out the screams of Shuri for her brother to get up. “Or can you not beat me without your powers, huh? That it? Need the extra kick for even a shot?” He taunts as he closes in and it’s no surprise that Zuri--James--whatever fucking name he goes by, chooses that chance to jump in.

 

“No, no! Take me. It’s my fault--” Zuri tries to claim; Erik shoves him hard to the side, sending the old man flying into the water. It’s tempting to kill him, to use that as a fire to stoke T’Challa’s anger and get that extra bit of fight from him.

 

“It’s worse to make you live with it. That you left a kid you claimed to give a shit about behind, that you didn’t have a spine to tell your King he was wrong,” Erik looks to the crowd and points at Zuri shouting even though they won’t remember. T’Challa will hear and T’Challa _will_ remember. “Y’all think I’m a monster? Look at this man, look at your former king! They’re the monsters here! Your cowardice, your complacency--”

 

“That’s enough Erik!” T’Challa barks; Erik turns to see the other man has managed to push himself up to his feet finally despite the deep cut to his right leg. There it is, a fire back in those dark eyes and Erik grins ferally.

 

“Let’s dance pretty boy,” Erik purrs as he rushes forward.

 

\---

 

“We must find a way to work together. It is clear that Bast believes that together we will be able to overcome this, together we can protect Wakanda.” T’Challa tells Erik as they watch the sunset over Wakanda. Erik’s breathing is unsteady as he holds onto the hilt of the blade buried in his chest. “It does not have to be this way every time Erik.”

 

T’Challa keeps saying that, his father keeps telling him that. That this is a chance to make shit different, but how can it be different when T’Challa doesn’t see, doesn’t get it? How can he work with someone who has less than half of the picture?

 

“Doesn’t it?” Erik asks, laughing bitterly as he pulls the blade from his chest.

 

They may have to work together to get out of this, but it doesn’t mean Erik has to be the one to give up everything.

 

\---

 

“Hey, your ships are fast right?” Erik asks even though he knows the answer when he enters the throne room. T’Challa is already standing up waiting for his arrival; he gives Erik an odd look as if he’s asking a foolish question.

 

“Yes,” T’Challa replies, cocking his head to the side in a clear question.

 

“Let’s take a field trip, we seen Wakanda. Lemme show you what you’re missing,” Erik says; it’s a sign of how many cycles they’ve gone through together that now T’Challa can actually ignore the confusion of the Council and his family. He gives Erik a considering look and Erik returns him with one of challenge. If T’Challa wants to hold hands and work together, he’s going to have to see shit himself. Not read the reports from the war dogs, actually see it.

 

“Where do you wish to go?” T’Challa asks and Erik grins in response.

 

“Back to the start.”

 

\---

 

Oakland is a lot different than when he was growing up, but his neighborhood isn’t that much different. His old building is condemned, the kids have a nicer hoop on the court. He walks with T’Challa down the cracked sidewalk ignoring the Dora Milaje following closely behind and the looks they get from people on the streets.

 

“That used to be a bomb ass corner store,” Erik says, pointing at a new Starbucks a few blocks from his old home. Starbucks, one of the first hints of the push for gentrification that’s starting to overtake Oakland, “lady used to let me study in the back. Sneak me sandwiches and shit. Landlord pushed ‘em out for more money.” Erik picks up an empty coke can and tosses it in a recycle bin not too much farther up.

 

“Everywhere you see, people just tryin’ to live their lives. Get sent here when it’s a shit area and no one else wants to touch it, then people with money expand and push them out. What can they do? What do they have? They don’t got the money for courts, don’t have any way to fight the people who push them aside as nothing. Rinse and fuckin’ repeat, like it’s their fault for bein’ born poor,” Erik stops and turns to T’Challa, hands clenched into fists in the pockets of his jeans. “Meanwhile in Wakanda y’all locked away hoarding your shit. These people deserve the chance to rise up, to show this world--”

 

“We can share our resources without starting a war Erik,” T’Challa interrupts and Erik laughs without humor. It’s a new development though, hearing T’Challa refer to the resources of Wakanda has as if it belongs to both of them; Erik doesn’t give it much thought.

 

“Like the world is just gonna accept that? Like they’re not gonna try and take? Ain’t that why Wakanda has stayed hidden so long?” Erik points out, “and this is just Oakland. What about the shit that goes down every day in LA? What happened in Ferguson, what happened in Baltimore, what--”

 

“ _We_ can help. Together. Erik, it’s been nearly a year in this loop for me and longer yet for you. Surely you can see, we must work together to resolve this. I will never understand the outside world as you do, you can help--”

 

A timer goes off on Erik’s watch; both men glance down at his wrist for a moment. They have minutes until everything resets yet again. Erik wonders, not for the first time, why he should give to the world that has robbed him of everything? Why not rebuild it from the ashes?

 

“You keep leaving your left side open, relying on your shield too much,” Erik tells him as he stops the timer; T’Challa closes his eyes letting out a heavy sigh.

 

“You truly wish to keep fighting? It is a waste of--”

 

“Of what, time? This is the most time I’ve gotten to spend with my dad, so step off,” Erik snaps quieting T’Challa. He wishes the fucker would argue with him more often sometimes. He wants T’Challa to be that too comfortable asshole Erik saw in the throne room that first time; that’s not how Erik see’s T’Challa any longer. If he’s not careful, he’s going to stop seeing T’Challa as an enemy at all.

 

As he feels the familiar tug back to the start of the loop, Erik thinks that maybe he’s already let that happen.

 

\---

 

Erik realizes a few cycles later that he doesn’t think anyone has known him as well as T’Challa does. He’s never spent this much time with anyone on a consistent basis. They both have an agenda, but they also are both aware of that. It makes it harder for either of them to be underhanded; it creates a deeper level of understanding than Erik would have thought he could experience with another person.

 

What that says about him on a personal level probably isn’t too great, but he doesn’t give a fuck. So it’s a bit of a surprise when Erik challenges T’Challa again, feeling the need to work out some tension and T’Challa offers a game of chess instead.

 

“Chess, for real?” Erik asks as they sit down in T’Challa’s office as the King turns his Kimoyo beads to make a projected board and pieces appear on top of the elegant wood surface.

 

“It is important to keep the mind as sharp as the body,” T’Challa grins at him. Erik rolls his eyes not lingering on the question of why that look no longer makes him want to punch T’Challa. “Or do you not know how to play?” It’s asked teasingly, so Erik doesn’t find any insult in it, he only rolls his eyes as he drops in the seat across from T’Challa.

 

“I’m a genius, asshole. I know how to play chess,” Erik says as he stretches his arms over his head eyeing the board, “you’re playing as white though.”

 

“Giving me the advantage?” T’Challa asks in surprise.

 

“Don’t you have that already?” Erik shoots back; T’Challa gives him an odd look that Erik can’t read. It bothers him, he’s always been good at reading others and he’s learned how to play T’Challa well in their time together.

 

“Yes, yes I have,” and it feels like an admission.

 

\---

 

Even though she has no memories of the different cycles, it seems that Shuri manages to respond with more grace than any of the others when T’Challa insists on bringing them into the loop. Her mind immediately goes to searching for a solution; she doesn’t even skip a beat when Erik dismisses her different ideas as things she’s already tried just moves on to the next idea, determined to help her brother solve this problem. He likes her, oddly enough.

 

He supposes killing her brother in front of her amongst his other ‘sins’ didn’t endear her to him in the past cycles.

 

“T’Challa’s biological signature has not changed. I don’t have a record of yours, but I believe the same logic would apply. However,” Shuri says clapping her hands together as she pulls up a different set of data, “upon a much closer inspection your brain waves--”

 

“You’ve checked before, nothin’ was unusual,” Erik interjects; her hand cuts through the air.

 

“Right, so you said earlier, but that was last time,” Shuri says as she pulls up their data side by side, “I assume I checked your Alpha and Beta waves. Unique, no overlap. Just what you expect from two individuals.” Erik’s not exactly familiar with neuroscience so has no way of interpreting the data, but it seems accurate enough to him.

 

“ _But!_  I must not have thought to look deeper,” Shuri says and with another wave of her hand a new chart appears with two sets of waves that flow smoothly through the air in perfect sync. “Your delta waves are _identical._ ”

 

“Delta waves,” T’Challa repeats, glancing at Erik who raises his shoulders in a shrug.

 

“It’s how you’re both aware of the time loop, how you can interact with one another. If you pull up mine,” her fingers dance and her voice rises in excitement at her discovery. “Mine are similar but it lacks the amplitude of yours, so while we too are in this ‘dream’ state we can’t interact the same way. I should have noticed earlier, there’s no reason for any of us to be awake and having these kinds of readings. It’s ridiculous--”

 

“So all we gotta do is wake up, how do we do that?” Erik’s heart is racing, is this actually going to be a way out? He doesn’t dare hope but fuck he just wants this to end. The way Shuri goes from excitable to noticingly deflating vindicates his pessimism.

 

“Normally I would suggest how you wake yourself up from a bad dream, but this isn’t a true dream. I pinched myself to be sure,” she says looking down at the inside of her wrist, “I really hope it doesn’t bruise.”

 

“Not going to matter in a few hours,” Erik says. Shuri gives them both apologetic looks before her lips thin into a stubborn line.

 

“I will figure something out,” Shuri insists. T’Challa smiles at his sister and draws her in for a hug, Erik looks away feeling oddly as if he’s stepping into a family moment.

 

“I know Shuri,” T’Challa says. Erik can feel T’Challa’s eyes on him and looks up to meet the King’s gaze. They may know more of the science, but it doesn’t change the truth they’ve both known this whole time.

 

It’s up to them.

 

\---

 

Erik rarely drinks.

 

In the military he would have drinks with his squad, not doing so would have made him stand out more than necessary. He learned his limits and stuck to them; altering his state of mind held little interest for him. His objectives were all that concerned him. Given the state of his life though, he is sure it would be understandable to anyone why he accepts T’Challa’s declaration in the following cycle that he needs a drink without missing a beat.

 

That he’s held out this long without getting blackout drunk is a testament to his willpower.

 

“So this is made from a fruit that can get an elephant drunk?” Erik says, holding up a light amber bottle with suspicion. He has a buzz going already and no real desire to test whether or not a hangover will carry over through cycles.

 

“I am fairly certain that is just a rumor,” T’Challa says over his own glass. His eyes are slightly glassy from mild intoxication as well, but his speech is coherent and he’s been drinking it for the last few hours, so Erik shrugs and pours himself some. They’re alone, miraculously enough. It turns out T’Challa’s study is attached to his rooms which have a spectacular view of Birnin Zana. The sun is setting and the city is still bustling beneath them, not that they can hear anything from the balcony.

 

“If I throw up it’s gonna be on you,” Erik takes a sip frowning in surprise. “This is sweet.” He’s not much for sweet things, but this is different enough and not sickly sweet that he finds he doesn’t mind and takes another sip. And another.

 

“It’s good, no?”

 

“Yea,” Erik agrees, looking back towards T’Challa who hasn’t taken his eyes off him. “If you’re trying to get me drunk to change my mind it ain’t gonna work. Also, I’m pretty sure Bast isn’t going to take anything I agree to while under the influence as ‘fixing’ whatever the hell we’re supposed to fix.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” T’Challa huffs shaking his head. Erik shrugs. At this point he’s willing to try anything, and T’Challa’s likely reaching that point too, even if he wears that same annoyingly calm mask most of the time.

 

“Or you just tryin’ to win the next chess game,” Erik smirks.

 

“You cheated,” T’Challa accuses without any heat. Erik laughs before taking another sip of his drink.

 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can’t help if I’ve got more game than you,” Erik hadn’t needed to cheat to win. He was a skilled strategist yes, but he truly excelled at seizing opportunities where he saw it. It should be setting him on edge that he’s just sitting and shooting the shit with T’Challa instead of trying to get out of this loop. His father has had no further advice to offer, and according to T’Challa neither has his own father.

 

“Do you dream when you sleep between cycles?” T’Challa asks as he takes the bottle from Erik to refill his own glass.

 

“Not really?” Erik glances at T’Challa unsure of why he’s asking, “most of the time I’m just knocked out. I assume it’s from exhaustion, why? Do you think it’s because this is kind of a dream itself?”

 

“Probably, I had wondered. It is something I miss,” T’Challa says wistfully.

 

“Dreaming? Really?” Erik asks incredulously. He shakes his head and downs the rest of the sweet drink in two gulps.

 

“It is relaxing, familiar. You can’t tell me it’s not strange to go from experiencing something almost nightly to just having it gone completely, as if it’s not disconcerting,” T’Challa explains.

 

“Well, yea I get that. But dreaming? Nah man, I miss _sex,_ ” Erik groans tilting his head back in misery, “I haven’t gone this long without getting laid since I was a virgin.” Erik has never had a lack of bed partners before so this mystically imposed celibacy fucking sucks.

 

Erik opens his eyes and blinks when he sees that T’Challa is standing over him. This is why he doesn’t like drinking; he should have heard the other man move and--

 

T’Challa leans down and kisses him.

 

 _Oh_.

 

Well, T’Challa is a very attractive man and Erik’s dick is not one to discriminate.  

 

\---

 

If it had only happened once, Erik thinks he could have blamed the alcohol.

 

Even the second time he could blame on making sure the first wasn’t some fluke drunken sex levels of fucking spectacular.

 

But even Erik can’t deny that the third time and each time after means that this a _thing_ now.

 

They don’t talk about it. Well, _Erik_ doesn’t talk about it and whenever T’Challa tries, he just drags the man into some dark private corner of the Palace or wherever they are and finds better uses for his mouth.

 

“I do know what you are doing,” T’Challa says, sounding slightly breathless as Erik’s mouth trails down his throat. His breath catches a bit as Erik adds a hint of teeth, it’s only a little hitch of breath but fuck if it isn’t hot as hell.

 

“And yet you’re still talking,” Erik mutters as he moves down T’Challa’s body.

 

“ _W_ _e_ are going to need to talk at some point,” Erik pauses at T’Challa’s hip bone, lifting his head to glare at the King of Wakanda whose eyes are filled with want.

 

“Do you want your dick sucked or not?”

 

That ends that ‘conversation’ quickly enough.

 

\---

 

They have thirty minutes until the next cycle reset and Erik is wide awake. The sun has almost fully set; the remnants of light fill the room with a glow similar to that on the ancestral plane. T’Challa is asleep beside him and has been for hours. It’s not the first cycle they’ve spent the entire time locked in the King’s chambers having sex, nor is it the first time that Erik tells himself this will be the last.

 

He’s let himself get distracted, that isn’t acceptable. He has let the cycles and lack of consequences get to him; he let his dick do the thinking for him. Erik let himself forget his plans, forget his goals and he’s furious with himself for allowing it. Try as he might though, he can’t bring himself to be angry at T’Challa.

 

That’s the most jarring thing. He looks at T’Challa sleeping peacefully next to a man who has killed him, killed his family, stolen his throne and threatened all he held dear. Erik doesn’t understand it, can’t wrap his head around how the man manages it. It’s not as if he’s some pacifist; Erik’s being repeatedly stabbed in the chest is proof of that.

 

He’s still pissed he hasn’t found a way around that move.

 

As he looks at T’Challa, Erik realizes he no longer sees his enemy or an obstacle in the way. He sees an idealist, a good man trying his best in a world where good men don’t last. He sees a man who learns from his failures and his faults, who will fight with everything he is for what he believes in. He sees a man who really sucks at chess, he sees--

 

Erik sees a King.

 

Erik closes his eyes, throwing his arm over his eyes, feeling each ridge and scar as it rests on his face. He’s not a good man. He is what this world has made him and he wants no sympathy for that; that’s not Erik’s problem.

 

Erik’s problem is he doesn’t know what he wants anymore. He wants justice for others, wants to turn the world upside down and watch it be remade. None of that has changed; yet when he searches for that inferno of anger he held before, he can’t find it. Not for T’Challa.

 

This is the last time; it has to be the last time.

 

\---

 

“Did I ever tell you how I survived?” T’Challa asks Erik when they are sitting at the edge of Warrior Falls. They both know the answer to that at this point, so the question seems odd.

 

“Obviously not,” Erik says as he kicks out his legs before looking over at T’Challa. He’s never asked either, oddly enough it seems like something that wasn’t important. It’s not as if he can stop it, he’s killed T’Challa before and it doesn’t stop the cycle.

 

“I was found by a Jabari fisherman. Nakia had taken my mother and sister there with a stolen heart shaped herb in the hope of having M’Baku face you,” T’Challa explains. Erik snorts and T’Challa gives him an odd look.

 

“She succeeded a few times, didn’t work. I won,” Erik shrugs, “he’s good. He’s just not as good as you.”

 

“He would not appreciate the sentiment,” T’Challa says with a laugh before continuing, “I spared his life, he spared mine. A life for a life,” T’Challa shakes his head at that. “My Father,” Erik tenses beside him because while his hatred for T’Challa is no more, the rage he feels towards T’Chaka has not abated.

 

“My Father,” T’Challa repeats as he leans slightly against Erik, “told me it was time for me to go home to them. To rest.”

 

“You’re too stubborn for that,” Erik interjects, “and besides, you had some idea of what I wanted then.” It’s not until after the words pass his lips that Erik realizes he’s spoken in the past tense. It doesn’t escape T’Challa’s notice either.

 

“And what do you want now Erik?” T’Challa asks. Erik can’t look at him. Instead, he looks out at Wakanda and thinks he’s always going to be stunned by its beauty. It’s the million dollar question he’s been asking himself over and over again; he still hasn’t found the answer.

 

“What kind of man do you wish to be?” In T’Challa’s question, Erik can hear his father, he can hear T’Chaka, and he can hear ancestors from long ago. Erik doesn’t say anything as he looks down at his arms, at the countless scars on his body and he does not feel regret. He knows some will find what he has done as deplorable, unredeemable. He did what he felt he had to and he wouldn’t change that.

 

“Don’t think I know how to be anything but a killer,” Erik says finally. He has no problem with that, but he doesn’t see himself ever being someone who can stand aside and accept the world as it is.

 

“Strange,” Erik frowns as he looks towards T’Challa. The other man is smiling as if he holds a secret that no one else knows, “I think you’re wrong.” Erik rolls his eyes, ready to argue when T’Challa leans in and kisses him.

 

It’s oddly sweet, unlike any other they’ve shared.

 

It tastes like goodbye.

 

\---

 

That night, Erik dreams.

 

He dreams of a leopard running through Wakanda, of an elegant panther at its side. They wrestle and play, pressing against one another in shows of affection. There are displays of strength, gnashing of teeth but neither creature yields. They are equal.

 

Erik watches them as if a distant observer. He knows what is being shown to him, knows just who each creature is meant to represent. As if their lives could be simple, carefree and easy.

 

But it’s nice to dream.

 

The dream melts away and Erik finds himself in the temple of Necropolis, surrounded by the heart shaped herb he has ordered burned countless times. He frowns as he looks towards the sand pit he has been buried in countless times and steps towards it before he sees something move in the distance. Erik shifts his stance, ready for an attack when he sees the dark shape approaching him and frowns.

 

It’s a panther, an absolutely massive one the size of Erik’s first car. It’s several times larger than the one earlier meant to represent T’Challa; it doesn’t take long for Erik’s eyes to widen in recognition.

 

_Bast._

 

He meets the Goddess’ glowing yellow eyes as her tail sways behind her. She’s beautiful, and terrifying if he’s honest with himself.

 

 _Choose, N’Jadaka,_ a disembodied voice reverberates in his head.

 

“Choose what?” He asks and the panther goddess takes a step towards him, her massive head nudging his arm.

 

 _Choose the man you wish to be,_ she nudges him again towards the sandpit. Erik’s not about to argue with a God who’s also a massive predatory animal. He makes his way to the pit and lays down in the sand, his arms moving across his chest.

 

 _One last time,_  she promises as her massive paws move to cover him and Erik closes his eyes.

 

\---

 

When Erik wakes up, he expects the familiar smell of Klaue’s blood, the sound of dying engines. Instead, he smells water and hears the sound of Warrior Falls, of the rhythmic drums of challenge. Erik opens his eyes and sees T’Challa preparing to kneel before Zuri but he’s staring at Erik with a question in his eyes.

 

_What kind of man do you wish to be?_

 

A choice, he has a choice; there’s no more cycle, there’s no more do overs. This is it. This is a chance to take the throne, to keep the throne. He can seize power and send out his weapons; no opposition will survive him. Even as his old plans run through his head, Erik can feel his heart sink and twist as T’Challa kneels and takes the elixir that will rob him of his only chance in a fight against Erik. T’Challa’s gotten stronger, gotten more familiar with how Erik fights but this fight has always gone one way.

 

Erik strips his shirt away, throwing it to the side as he takes his weapons and in the same swift motion breaks the spear he has been given to shorten the handle.

 

“Have you decided then?” T’Challa asks. Erik does not look at him, instead he inspects the weapon in his hand because now is the time. There’s only so long the inevitable can be delayed. Erik’s heart is pounding heavily in his chest as it never has before in one of their fights.

 

“I want to see my dad one more time,” it’s the only answer he can give. Erik’s never felt conflict like this before, never felt so torn. Still, across the water T’Challa nods in understanding.  How he understands when Erik himself can’t is beyond him and should probably piss him off more than it does.

 

“I will not go easy on you,” T’Challa warns him as he raises his shield and changes his stance.

 

“I wouldn’t forgive you if you did,” Erik says and he crouches slightly raising his weapons as Zuri steps between them, he still is unable to meet Erik’s eyes.

 

“Let the challenge begin!”

 

\---

 

The internal conflict doesn’t stop.

 

It doesn’t stop when he pushes Zuri aside instead of running him through with his blade. It doesn’t stop when T’Challa manages to land more than a glancing blow to Erik’s side. Erik isn’t sure what he’s expecting, for the answer just to come flying out of nowhere to hit him upside the head. He has his chance now, he can cut T’Challa’s throat or pick up his fallen spear and drive it through his heart, he can demand T’Challa yield, he can--

 

“I love you,” T’Challa tells him as he tries to push himself back up to his feet and Erik steps falter only a moment as he walks forward. No one else on the falls can hear them, the words are clearly meant for Erik, “I had never said...but I thought you should know.”

 

How the fuck is he supposed to react to that? How fucking _dare_ T’Challa try and manipulate him, try and change things? But Erik knows he’s not, knows it’s true. T’Challa wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t beg for his life by appealing to feelings Erik isn’t even sure he’s capable of.

 

“You’re a fool. You’re a damn fool,” Erik chokes out, his eyes sting with tears he’s not willing to shed, that he doesn’t even know why they’re there.

 

“Without a doubt,” T’Challa coughs and spits blood from his mouth as he finally pushes himself shakingly to his feet on the edge of the waterfall. Erik sees what he means to do before it happens and his eyes widen. On instinct he reaches out to grab him just as T’Challa takes a single step back, a small smile on his face as he falls.

 

Erik hears Ramonda scream as he looks at his empty hand. It probably looks as though Erik pushed her son over the edge. He snaps his head around, pushes the shock to the side and springs into action.

 

“No one leaves!” He barks out pointing to Nakia, Ramonda and Shuri, “stop them!” He barks at the Dora Milaje, at Okoye. He sees the hesitation in their eyes before duty seizes them and they surround the three women.

 

“Monster!” Ramonda shouts, and it’s nothing he hasn’t heard from her before. He doesn’t even blink at the accusation; she isn’t wrong after all. Shuri and Nakia are trembling in anger, that’s familiar too.

 

“Bring ‘em,” Erik commands as he turns to Zuri who is standing now staring at the falls where T’Challa fell in shock, “lead the way Uncle James.”

 

The man flinches, perhaps it’s cruel and petty, but Erik really doesn’t give a fuck.

 

He still has a choice to make; he still gets to choose who he’s going to be.

 

\---

 

When Erik sees his father again, they aren’t in Oakland anymore. They’re in Wakanda, in the very same spot where Erik watched countless sunsets with T’Challa before ‘dying’ again and again. His father is dressed the same way though, baggy shirt and wide smile familiar as he turns to greet him.

 

Erik feels the tears falling from his cheek and raises the sleeve of his hoodie, the same as the blue one he always wore in these dreams and wipes them away.

 

“So now you cry for me?” N’Jobu teases gently as Erik stops standing beside him looking out at the setting sun. Gone is the strange glow of the ancestral plane and if Erik didn’t know better, he would think this was a real sunset.

 

“No matter how this goes down, I ain’t gonna see you again,” Erik has grown used to seeing his father like this. It’s not the same as having him there, no, he was robbed of that long ago. But it’s something and knowing that he’s going to have to let it go _hurts._

 

“You will, one day,” N’Jobu pauses for a moment, “hopefully many days from now.” He adds as he turns to look out at the sunset, “I have been blessed by Bast in many ways N’Jadaka. She has even returned me home.

 

“But none of that compares to the blessing it has been to be your father, and to have this chance to see you grow,” N’Jobu says his voice catching. Erik’s tears fall and his throat closes as he watches his father wipe away his own tears. “Regardless of what you choose, I am glad to see the sunset with you this one time.”

 

_Don’t go, don’t go, don’t let it stop, don’t. Please Baba don’t go! Don’t--_

 

So many words rise and fall, there aren’t enough words for him to express what he can’t contain. Erik reaches out and embraces his father one last time, feels the once familiar tightness of his of his arms. How he cradles Erik as if Erik were still a child.

 

“Choose the man you wish to be,” his father whispers to him and Erik’s eyes close tightly. He knows this is it, that when he opens his eyes his father won’t be there anymore. That he’s going to have to make his choice.

 

\---

 

Erik gasps as he wakes up, the familiar strength flowing through his veins; he’s shaking as he forces himself to breathe normally. Erik raises his hands to his eyes and wipes away the dust and tears as he pushes himself up to his feet. Zuri is there with the priestesses, as is Okoye standing guard over the three women Erik had ordered detained.

 

“All y’all cept those three, get out,” Erik commands; for a moment no one moves. Erik looks around the room and glares, “did I fuckin’ stutter?” Zuri hesitates but he departs with the priestesses. Only Okoye stands still, her grip tight on her spear as she stands in front of the others and it is clear she is guarding them from him more than for him.

 

“What do you intend…my King,” those last words cost her. Erik looks over her shoulder at them; Shuri is being held close by her mother, and Nakia stands beside them, hands clenched into tight fists.

 

“If I wanted ‘em dead, they would be dead. This ain’t for you to hear,” Erik can see her conflict. The part of her that is loyal to the royal family, to T’Challa conflicting the part of her that is loyal to Wakanda, to the throne, to Erik.

 

“Go Okoye,” Ramonda commands her voice still holding the authority of the Queen she was even in her pain and grief. The General hesitates, but a command from the Queen Mother and King cannot be ignored, and she walks down the same path the others had used to depart.

 

“What do you want?” It is Shuri who speaks, defiant and angry. Erik doesn’t doubt she has already thought of challenging him before dismissing it as a futile fight and is instead thinking of how to slip away and get to her tech. She’s a brilliant girl.

 

Erik says nothing as he kneels down and plucks one of the herbs holding it up looking at it in the soft light of the torch illuminating the room.

 

“You,” he points to Nakia who straightens in defiance, “are going to take this to Jabari Land. Offer it to M’Baku. He will take you to T’Challa.”

 

“How _dare_ you! You killed my son and now you would tell us--”

 

“Auntie, me and your boy have been through this more times than I can even begin to count. And this time I didn't throw him, he stepped off,” did that count as yielding? Probably not. Nakia stares at him, her expression unreadable as she searches his. It's clear to Erik why she had made a good spy with a poker face like that.

 

“That’s a lie!” Shuri shouts as her mother holds her back, “T’Challa wouldn’t--”

 

“He would; because he knows that ain’t the end Princess. Or it won’t be if you hurry your asses over there,” he turns back to Nakia holding out the herb again, “now take this, get what you need and get the hell outta here before I change my damn mind.”

 

Erik tries to tell himself he is doing this because he feels cheated of his victory by T’Challa, but the lie to himself never takes root. Erik’s conflicted. Still, his training and rational mind tell him that this is the perfect chance, burn everything and consolidate power. Yet that voice is so much softer than it would have been at the start of the cycles and he can’t stop replaying what happened on the falls over and over again.

 

Nakia reaches out and takes the herb from his hand, quickly tucking it into her clothing as if he’ll grab it back.

 

“Why?” She asks softly. _Why is he doing this? Why her?_ The spoken and unspoken questions are reasonable ones. It probably would be best answered by a better man than Erik.

 

“Let’s put it this way, I could lie and tell you I was sorry for stealin’ your man. I really ain’t though,” Erik flashes them a grin fully revealing his gold capped teeth. Nakia’s eyes flash with confusion and perhaps a hint of hurt, but it all falls behind that beautiful mask just as quickly as it arrives.

 

Nakia nods and taking Shuri’s hand guides the young Princess from the chamber. Ramonda moves to follow them but she falters as she passes Erik, looking at him as she never has in the past cycles.

 

“What is it that Bast wished from you?” _Why does it involve my son?_ Is the question that goes unasked. Erik thinks about not answering her; it’s between him and T’Challa after all.

 

“She wants me to choose the man I wish to be, and he wanted to give me more time to do that,” the Queen Mother nods.

 

“And have you chosen, N’Jadaka?” She asks as Shuri calls for her mother to go with them. She is long gone before Erik whispers his answer to the empty chamber where only the ancestors can hear.

 

“It’s a work in progress.”

 

\---

 

Erik. N’Jadaka. Killmonger.

 

He is all of those names: the name his mother chose, the name his father gave him, the name he earned.

 

_Choose the man you wish to be._

 

Is he Erik? The scared boy in Oakland who held his father’s body, seen the wound delivered by panther claws and knowing now that those fairytales of Wakanda were real.

 

Is he N’Jadaka? Son of a Prince. A member of the Golden Tribe with as much claim to the throne as T’Challa.

 

Is he Killmonger? Navy SEAL, black ops. A tool for the oppressors who took their training and fulfilled their missions to achieve his own goals.

 

_Choose the man you wish to be._

 

\---

 

Walking into the throne room as King never gets old.

 

All of the eyes are on him; the Council is filled with fear, questions and uncertainty. W’Kabi is the only one who seems pleased to see him walk through those doors instead of T’Challa. He passes Okoye on his way to the throne and he can feel the question in her eyes, feel how much it costs her not to demand to know where the others have gone. Erik lowers himself on the throne slowly leaning back as if to savor the motion.

 

He’s King, at least for the day.

 

“I meant what I said,” he says as he runs his hands over the armrests of the vibranium throne, “y’all sittin’ here comfortable. And that shit’s gonna change.” Regardless of how today ends, Wakanda will never be the same again.

 

“My King,” Okoye is the first to speak leaning forward as she does so. Her loyalty to the throne is at war with her loyalty to the family that he usurped, but she presses onward, “Wakanda has survived by--”

 

“Wakanda has survived at the expense of others,” Erik cuts in and the General falls silent. “Wakanda has technology that could crush any nation in this world. Wakanda has the resources to help uplift people who have been oppressed, who never even had a shot. What has Wakanda done though? Nothing. Locked behind a protective barrier, looking down its nose at the rest of the world while it hides behind ‘tradition’, but let’s be real it’s cowardice.”

 

He can send out those weapons; there has to be a way around what T’Challa and his family managed every time. He has a head start, with exact knowledge of when T’Challa should arrive, he can--

 

“That ends today,” he pushes himself up off of the throne looking down at the others who remain in their seats, “take me to the lab at the mines. Now.”

 

\---

 

Erik has the most advanced technology in this world at his fingertips. Shuri’s inventions are brilliant, innovative in a way Erik is certain only someone so young can truly be. Her mind works in ways that Erik’s own never has, and he’s been through enough cycles where he can respect that now rather than see it as merely an added obstacle. Scientists are explaining in fearful tones the different bits of tech to their new King; Erik’s only half listening as the same question runs in his head over and over.

 

Can he give up what he’s worked his entire life for? And for what? For a plan Erik sees as doomed to failure? For a man he’s spent years locked in an endless cycle of the same day with, who claims to _love_ him. Of all the stupid fucking things. Love. The world has taken everything from Erik, everything he’s ever loved. His mom, his dad, fuck even Uncle James whose betrayal and guilt burns.

 

Erik picks up two blades from the weapons display, their weight is familiar in his hands as he turns them over before making striking motions into the air. It’s routine, a test of their familiarity and unlike other times he can’t picture himself cutting down T’Challa, he can’t.

 

But he’s done so many other things he never thought he could to reach his goals.

 

Erik’s internal clock doesn’t slow, the time is drawing near and he has to make his choice.

 

_Choose the man you wish to be._

 

“I’m headin’ up top,” Erik announces, cutting off an older woman as he turns and walks away sheathing both blades in the holster at his back. The weight of the gold necklace is heavier on his scarred chest than it has ever been. With it holds his strength, his protection against T’Challa’s own.

 

W’Kabi and Okoye, along with members of the Border Tribe and Dora Milaje step into the elevator with him, the tension between the two lovers is palpable. Erik used to find it amusing, now it barely even registers as he keeps his eyes forward watching as the Vibranium in the mines passes his vision. Those familiar electromagnetic railways feeding Vibranium into the lab, where he’s died countless times fly by.

 

_Choose the man you wish to be._

 

Fucking Gods.

 

He steps out of the elevator heading forward to where he will be able to see T’Challa when he arrives. Erik can sense the confusion in those who follow him yet none of them speak up. The King is not to be questioned. It’s why Zuri had left him behind, and it is why Okoye holds her tongue in her desire to serve her country.

 

Erik closes his eyes for just a moment and takes in a deep breath; the air is fresh and clean. There is a slight breeze that does not hint at the turmoil turning within him; it’s time. It’s time to decide, time to choose.

 

“N’JADAKA!” Erik opens his eyes, and he _smiles_.

 

“He lives,” Okoye says beside him and he can hear her pride, her joy as T’Challa comes forward in the distance his arms spread apart, though whether it’s in invitation or in challenge is all a matter of perspective.

 

“Wassup!” Erik shouts in response, the familiar greeting to the call out makes his heart beat faster. It’s time, it’s _time._

 

_Choose the man you wish to be._

 

“The challenge is not over, I never yielded! And as you can see,” T’Challa smiles even wider now; fuck he has no right to look almost actually fucking happy. “I am _not_ dead!” No, no he’s not. He walks forward his pace unchanged, each step is confident but why? What is he confident in? In that he will beat Erik?

 

“My King?” W’Kabi questions beside him but Erik doesn’t acknowledge him, he holds T’Challa’s gaze as the deposed King continues walking forward. What is his choice? What does he choose?

 

Erik reaches behind him and draws out the blades. Thanks to his enhanced senses he can see T’Challa’s eyes widen just a fraction but he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter. He is a man of his beliefs, he is a man who will do what he must regardless of the pain it will bring him.

 

_Choose the man you wish to be._

 

Erik’s hands tighten around the weapons and his smile turns into a snarl as he grits his teeth, his mind racing over every possibility, over every technique and move T’Challa has used and--

 

And _fuck it._

 

He releases his hold on the blades, let’s them fall and hit the ground beside him as he glares at T’Challa who now stands no more than twenty feet from him; fuck if he isn’t a beautiful sight to behold.

 

“I yield!” He shouts the bitter words even as his heart twists and everything he has aspired to protests within him. He feels as if he can see those dreams dying before him and it hurts, “but I swear to God if you make me regret this motherfucker, Ima--”

 

He’s cut off as T’Challa launches forward and pulls him into a bone crushing embrace that takes Erik’s breath from him. His own arms move to match the embrace. He buries his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. He can feel T’Challa’s tears, tears of joy fall onto his skin and Erik’s own leak out. Part of him regrets the choice already because T’Challa’s idealism could get them all fucking killed.

 

“You won’t, you won’t. You have my word,” T’Challa whispers and Erik isn’t sure if he fully believes him. T’Challa’s making promises for a future he can’t hope to keep. Erik wishes that even now he could see the world through T’Challa’s eyes because it would make shit so much easier. He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to pull away because pulling away means dealing with the consequences of his choices. No redos, not anymore.

 

Erik pulls back with reluctance, not that he shows it with his confident grin. Erik takes a step back just as T’Challa does and in unison, both men cross their forearms over their chests with hands clenched into fists.

 

“So, both of us are alive,” T’Challa is the first to speak. Neither of them are looking at the others on the landing, all of whom are staring at the two men in confusion. They’re both still far too used to being stuck in a cycle that it’s easy to ignore.

 

“Well there’s still plenty of time ‘til sunset so don’t go jumpin’ to conclusions,” Erik jokes. Well, he knows it’s a joke. The Dora Milaje all turn to look at him sharply regardless, some with spears at the ready. T’Challa laughs looking over Erik’s shoulder and his smile widens.

 

“I told you to stay behind,” he calls and Erik turns to see Shuri and Nakia, both dressed for battle approaching them.

 

“Better safe than sorry big brother,” Shuri says lowering her hands. She still eyes Erik with suspicion even as she walks forward. Nakia follows close behind; Erik’s familiar enough with T’Challa now to sense the way the other tenses. He bets they didn’t have a fun conversation. For T’Challa it has been well over a year, but for Nakia it has only been a day since Erik arrived. A better person would feel guilty. Erik’s not though and he’s fine with that.

 

“I suppose I should go get Agent Ross from the lab then,” Shuri adds and Erik frowns at that, Agent Ross? He turns to T’Challa hoping that ‘Agent Ross’ is a code name for someone else and not who Erik thinks it is.

 

“I forgot to tell you,” T’Challa admits running a hand over his neck, “it didn’t seem important.”

 

“Not important,” Erik repeats tonelessly, “you invite the goddamn CIA into Wakanda and that ain’t important?” Is T’Challa insane? Does he not have any sense of self preservation?

 

“He saved Nakia’s life,” Shuri pipes up in her brother’s defense and of course that’s why. T’Challa’s nobility is going to get him killed; it’s going to get them all killed. Erik doesn’t even have to ask if T’Challa will kill the man now because no that would be the _sensible_ thing to do. He does the only thing he can do he takes a deep breath and looks to the sky. He has to believe T’Challa has some form of plan, and he’ll go along with it for now so long as it isn’t too idiotic.

 

Besides, Erik has orchestrated ‘accidental’ deaths before.

 

“Alright, alright. Any other hidden white boys around you wanna tell me about?” Erik asks. He means it as a joke but both T’Challa and Shuri exchange a glance and he curses before throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “I take it fuckin’ back, yield rescinded.”

 

T’Challa, the fucking bastard, just laughs at him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the fic! It was definitely a labor of love and I'm really proud of it. I have a bit more written so maybe in the future I'll add a small epilogue or little bits from T'Challa's view but for now this is it. Back to my other fic!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Translation into Chinese available here! By HCIO
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113185


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